


Pandora's Box

by Jominerva



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gift Fic, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining John, Previously Promiscuous Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2277402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jominerva/pseuds/Jominerva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John makes an accidental discovery and Pandora's Box opens. Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pandora's Box

**Author's Note:**

> This is a ficlet I wrote for my friend Misty for her birthday. Sorry it's a day late! Hope you like it anwyay. :)  
> Also this is un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes was a walking contradiction. He was a mysterious man, though he’d most likely prefer you to use the word enigmatic or perhaps oracular, and yet John could read him like an open book. He was certainly a brilliant man. That no one could argue against. John had witnessed many times just how brilliant he could be, and how incredibly thick he could be as well. Sherlock was like the moon, dark and too often misunderstood, yet he somehow found a way to brighten a room simply by stepping into it. John had never met anyone harder to pin down than Sherlock Holmes. He found himself willing and able to believe any and all new information about the detective he received, and yet he found it impossible to believe Sherlock had ever been a sexual creature. He saw the virginal detective every day, thwarting the advancements of both women and men, never showing interest in either sex or any combination of the two, so when John was faced with indisputable evidence that Sherlock, at least at one point in his life, did in fact act on humanity’s most basic desire, he didn’t know what to think.

John held up the thin lacy garment and stared at it in disbelief. If he weren’t so shocked at the fact that he’d found women’s underwear beneath Sherlock’s bed he would be in awe of how expensive this small piece of fabric looked. It was red, bright red in fact, and almost completely see-through. It was the kind of underwear one wears when they’re expecting to remove it for someone later. Or perhaps she hadn’t removed it and Sherlock had ravished this mystery woman with them still on.

John shook his head to rid himself of the inappropriate thoughts of his flatmate and stood to his full height again. Sherlock had sent him in here to retrieve a book, not drool over some random woman’s underwear. This was a complete invasion of privacy and if Sherlock knew-

“Oh, John, that’s what’s taken you so long.”

Feeling like a teenager caught with a dirty magazine John held the underwear behind his back as he turned to face Sherlock standing in the doorway. His face is serene, but John knows that is the face he makes when he is hiding his true emotions. John just doesn’t know what emotion it is that Sherlock is hiding. Anger, perhaps, at John for going through his personal things. Only, the underwear had simply been sitting on the floor, almost beneath the bed but not quite. No one could blame John for seeing it and becoming intrigued.

“I’m sorry Sherlock, I just saw it and … I picked it up to throw into your hamper and-“

“They’re clean. No need for that.” Sherlock stepped forward and John held out his hand. He had never felt so embarrassed, and he had once taken a shower in freezing cold water without bringing a towel, thus having to retreat to his room stark naked and freezing. Not a good combination for a man, that. Certainly not a state he’d wanted to be seen in.

Sherlock plucked the undergarments from John’s hand and balled them up in his fist. John tried and failed to keep his eyes off of the bits of red that could still be seen.

“Are those your girlfriend’s?”

“John, I’ve already told you. Girlfriends aren’t my area.”

“Right, of course.” John’s face was burning but he couldn’t stop asking questions about the damn kickers. “Are those your boyfriend’s then?”

Sherlock gave him a look that was half exasperated, half amused, and shook his head.

“No, John. These belonged to a girl I knew in uni.”

“I’m guessing you knew her pretty well.”

“You could say that,” Sherlock said, his lips stretching into a full smirk. John found himself smiling back before he remembered what they were talking about and his ears burned.

“Right, well, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have picked them up-“

“Her name was Abigail but she liked to call herself Pandora. Said very few were able to open Pandora’s box. I happened to be one of the lucky ones, and I got myself a trophy.” Sherlock held up the thong and grinned. “It soon became a habit. One I have yet to break, though I’ve switched to collecting memorabilia from cases rather than sexual conquests. “ Sherlock gestured to the many books and trinkets decorating his room, all objects he’s collected from clients he’s helped, or things he’s lifted from crime scenes. The Woman’s phone was lying on a bookshelf on the other side of the room. John didn’t look at it for too long. Instead, he stared at Sherlock, who was watching John with curious eyes.

“What, habit?” John said when his thoughts cleared. “You mean this isn’t the only pair of undergarments you’ve got tucked away under your bed?”

“No.” Sherlock bent down and lifted the duvet enough to pull out a small black chest. It was already open, and stuffed with every kind of underwear they make. John saw boy shorts, hipsters, thongs, boxers, and even a pair of black Armani shorts inside. Just staring at the chest and its contents caused John’s face to heat and his jeans to tighten.

“I started keeping a Pandora’s box of my own. Stealing these while they were asleep and I was on my way out of the room. I never saw any of them again, so I figured what was the harm? I get another collectable and they got a fantastic shag. Everyone wins.” Sherlock smiled at John before bending down to place ‘Pandora’s’ underwear back into the chest. John noticed the way Sherlock’s eyes lingered on its contents for a moment too long, and clenched his teeth.

“Well, that’s … quite a collection you’ve got there,” he said, starting to back out of the room. His steps were stiff and awkward due to an unnecessary and unwelcome pressure beneath his belt, but he prayed to God Sherlock wouldn’t notice. He seemed too enthralled with looking through his ‘trophy’ collection to care anyway. When he finally did look up John was already in the doorway.

“Are you uncomfortable John?”

“Um, no. I’m tired. I’m just going to have a quick kip and then I’ll be down for dinner.”

“But it’s just past noon.”

“I’m getting up in years, Sherlock. That means I get to nap at odd times of the day. I’ll see you at dinner.”

With that John turned and practically jogged up the stairs to his own bedroom, shutting and locking the door before he leaned back against it.

So, Sherlock was definitely _not_ a virgin. Far from it, in fact. John’s brain had too little blood supply to focus on anything other than this newly acquired fact. He was torn between shock and something close to jealousy. How is it that so many have had the pleasure of being embraced by Sherlock, by being buried to the hilt inside his gorgeous, lithe body, or have had him buried inside them? That so many faceless nobodies have had the one thing John Watson can’t seem to get out of Sherlock Holmes.

John Watson had the stroppiness, the mood swings, the experiments in the kitchen. He had the adrenaline filled detective hot on the trail of a culprit, and the lazy no good man who could spend all day in a dressing gown. He had the dinners out and the movie nights in, he had every part of Sherlock there was, except one that until today he hadn’t known existed.

Perhaps if John were to casually suggest that if Sherlock were ever up to add a new piece to his collection …

No, that was idiotic. There was no way Sherlock saw John like that. They’d been living together for years and not once had Sherlock ever shown any interest in pursuing a physical relationship with John. He never showed any interest in having any sort of relationship with John other than friends and flatmates, and John was okay with that. He really was. It didn’t matter that Sherlock’s voice saying his own name had become his favourite sound, or that the sight of Sherlock stumbling straight from his bed into the kitchen for tea made his heart swell. It didn’t mean anything that John repeatedly put his own life on the line time and time again for the simple fact that he wanted Sherlock’s life to continue. Sherlock was his best friend, and he was perfectly okay with that.

Except he wasn’t.

With a heavy heart John pushed himself off of his door and ambled over to his bed. Perhaps he could really take a nap, and get these thoughts of Sherlock in the arms of another woman, man, another _person_ that wasn’t him, out of his mind. He knew there was very little chance of Sherlock not making an appearance even in his dreams, but the best he could hope for was something pleasant that could soothe the ache in his chest for a little while.

John’s eyes had barely closed before there was a soft knocking on his bedroom door. He remained quiet and tried to keep his breathing even. Perhaps he could trick Sherlock into thinking he had already gone to sleep and he would leave him alone.

“John I know you’re not asleep yet so open the door. I think we need to talk.”

John groaned inwardly but got out of bed. Never before had he dreaded a conversation more than now. What was he supposed to say? That this sudden confrontation with Sherlock’s apparently existent sexuality and sexual prowess has awakened something inside him he didn’t know existed? Or perhaps he had known the sexual attraction was there all along. John had to admit to himself, _that_ had probably started before the romantic attraction.

When he opened the door he found Sherlock standing before him looking sheepish, with his hands behind his back.

“John, I … may I come in?” John had never heard Sherlock sound so awkward and uncertain before. It was strangely endearing, if a bit disconcerting. He nodded and stepped aside, walking over to his bed and sitting down. Sherlock stared at him for a moment before taking a deep breath and apparently steeling himself. John prepared for the worst.

“Are you attracted to me?”

“Yes.” John knew there was no denying it now. Sherlock had probably deduced it the moment he saw John leaving. He braced himself for impact, for the inevitable rejection that Sherlock would give him. He waited for the ‘it will ruin our friendship’ speech, he waited for something, and yet Sherlock remained silent. John forced himself to meet his eye, expecting to see some expression of pity or perhaps even disgust. Yet, Sherlock’s gaze was almost … heated.

“Good,” he said quietly. Sherlock took two long strides to reach John and grabbed his face and then Sherlock was _kissing_ him. John was kissing Sherlock Holmes, in his bedroom, because he said was attracted to him and it was _good._

Better than good, in fact. Sherlock’s lips were soft, almost too soft to belong to a man, but they were firm and confident and oh so talented and then there was tongue and John was almost certain his knees would give out if Sherlock kept this up.

John’s hands scrabbled for purchase and settled on Sherlock’s narrow hips. Sherlock began steering him back towards the bed and John allowed himself to be maneuvered onto the mattress, but the moment he felt hands working at the hem of his jumper, pushing it up to reveal the bare skin of his chest underneath, he forced himself to pull away. He felt his body scream in protest but he knew his heart would be paying for it later if he didn’t clarify things now.

“Sherlock, wait, I can’t.”

“But you just said-“

“It’s more than that! There’s more than just a physical thing here. If we do this I … I don’t know if I can go back to just friends.”

“Who said anything about just friends?” Sherlock asked before lowering his head to place a kiss beneath John’s jawline. “Surely you can’t be that daft.”

It took John a moment to get past the feeling of Sherlock’s voice so close to his ear, but he managed to push Sherlock away and meet his eye. His pupils were so wide his irises were nearly black, and his lips were red and swollen from kissing. He looked absolutely ravishing. John found himself at a loss for words.

“I…”

“John, I have been trying to make this happen for _months._ I let you see every part of me and you’ve stayed. I let you in on the most personal aspects of my life, emotionally and now physically. And yet you still didn’t see. Well, you see but you haven’t observed.” Sherlock lifted a finger and trailed it down the side of John’s face, his eyes softening for a moment as they settled on John’s. “It’s been _agonizing._ ”

“So-“

“Yes.” Sherlock cut him off, eyes boring into his and soon the space between their lips was too much. John reached up and buried his hand in Sherlock’s curls, pulling him closer so their lips could meet once more. Sherlock’s hands began working at John’s jumper again, and they parted to ease the garment over John’s head. Sherlock’s tongue darted out to wet his lips as he took in the sight of the newly revealed skin, and John felt absolutely giddy.

He had Sherlock Holmes, in his bed, practically drooling over him. This was more than just a random hook-up. Rather than steal his underwear Sherlock had stolen John’s heart. Apparently John had had Sherlock’s for quite a while as well.

Laughter bubbled up inside his chest and escaped out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and Sherlock lifted a teasing eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“Nothing, I just … I just had a thought.” John reached up to brush some curls back from Sherlock’s forehead. “Are you going to steal a pair of underwear from me?” Sherlock joined in his laughter, and when they quieted down he gave John a brilliant smile and shrugged.

“Old habits die hard.”


End file.
